In Memoriam
by xCaptainBlaze
Summary: A tribute to Firenze Firefrost. Make sure to read my fanfiction "The Nether" or you won't know who anyone is.
1. Chapter 1, First Meetings

In Memoriam

_A tribute to Firenze Firefrost, who died so his friend could live. _

A curled fist slammed into the boy's nose with an audible crack. He howled in pain and lashed out at his attacker, knocking him back, but the others were closing in. He knew it was futile to fight, but his honour refused to let him give in. The boy kicked one of the others in the stomach, roundhouse-style, bringing him to his knees. He disregarded the blood pouring out of his broken nose and turned to the remaining attacker. He looked weary and had a huge purpling bruise on his chin, but still closed in.

The boy knocked the other to the ground with one blow. As he leant into the punch, however, someone shoved him hard from behind, sending him painfully to the unrelenting concrete. He rolled onto his back, feeling blood pour from his lips down his chin. Above him, the first one towered, mouth curled into a cruel smile. Out of the corner of the boy's eye, he spotted the second rising unsteadily to his feet. The third was still flat out on the pavement, though. The first raised a boot meaningfully. The boy didn't try to get away – he knew he wouldn't make it in time. Instead he curled into himself to protect as much of himself as possible, and braced himself for the beating he knew he was about to receive.

The first one brought the boot hard into the boy's back. He gritted his teeth painfully, determined not to cry out. His assailant kicked him again in the back, and then used the tip of his heavy leather boots to roughly roll the boy over. Another kick landed in his chest, and the boy almost screamed in pain. His ribs felt like they were on fire, and he felt several snaps. The first attacker landed another kick in his stomach, and the boy, unable to stop himself, vomited all over the expensive boots of his attacker.

His eyes flared in rage and he grabbed the boy by the collar, dragging him upright and pinning him against the wall. He slammed a fist into his temple, then again, and again. The boy's eyes turned foggy and his body slackened, no longer fighting. The second one watched, sniggering, as the first landed a final blow, knocking the boy unconscious. He let go of his collar and the boy fell, landing heavily on the ground.

The first one bent to check the boy's pulse when he heard his friend's chuckling cut off suddenly with a strangled half-moan. He spun around to be confronted with the sight of a tall boy with white-blond hair, stepping over the limp unconscious body of his friend haughtily. The first one, not the brightest bulb, swung a punch at the newcomer experimentally. The boy caught his fist in one hand, easily stopping him. He stepped towards the first attacker and, in one fluid motion, slid behind him and twisted his arm painfully behind his back. The boy cried out in pain and the newcomer neatly hit him in the back of the head. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed.

The boy knelt beside the boy the others had been attacking, checking his health. His frown deepened and he gently woke the boy. Upon waking, he flailed violently, his eyes snapping open. He froze when he saw the gang who had attacked him sprawled across the pavement. Scrambling to his feet, he glanced around and spotted his saviour standing to one side.

"Who are you?" he snapped, wary of the stranger. "What's your name?" The boy raised his hands defensively.  
"My name is Firenze. Calm down, there's no need for that." The boy lowered his fists reluctantly, seeing this stranger was no threat.  
"I'm Mike," he replied. "Um... Thanks, I guess..." He trailed off awkwardly, not sure what to say.  
"Don't mention it," said Firenze, smiling. Mike smiled back briefly, then winced at the pain in his chest. Worry crossed Firenze's face and he moved forward to help, but Mike pushed him away.

"They're broken. You need a doctor," said Firenze.  
"I'm fine," muttered Mike.  
"You are not fine, and you know you aren't fine," insisted Firenze. "You need those sorted out."  
Mike sighed and tried to think of a better solution. None came to mind.  
"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes, but secretly grateful. "So, where to?"  
"The doctor," Firenze said firmly. "There's one a few streets down from here, we can – "

"No!" yelled Mike frantically. Firenze gave him a questioning look.  
"That's Chad's dad," he said, nudging the ringleader's head with his boot in way of explanation. Firenze sighed.  
"There aren't any close by. What should we do?"

"I vote we head to the nearest one, apart from... that one," Mike said cautiously. Firenze agreed and they made their way through the darkening streets. When they eventually reached the building, Mike looked ready to drop. He slid down the wall, clutching his side and wheezing painfully. Firenze pulled him up, half-leading and half-dragging him to the door. A note was stuck to it, which Firenze pulled off and read quickly.

"Gone for the weekend. Will be back on Mondas," Firenze read.  
"Great. Now what do we do?" asked Mike, annoyed. Firenze turned to him, an apprehensive look on his face.  
"We have two options," he told him. "Firstly, we can go to the next doctor along."  
"I... I don't think I can," mumbled Mike, ashamed of his weakness. "What's the second option?"

"You need to trust me for this to work," Firenze said softly. Mike nodded. Firenze placed his fingertips on Mike's shoulders and closed his eyes, appearing to concentrate intensely.  
White light poured from the tips of his long fingers, encircling Mike and seemingly ending gathered above his heart. A strange tingling sensation ensued, followed quickly by pain. However, it quickly subsided, leaving behind no trace of the pain of his broken ribs. Firenze gasped from exertion and fell back against the wall, panting. Mike examined his ribs carefully – no blood or bruising of any kind, and they all seemed to be in place.  
"How did you do that?" he asked excitedly. "Was that magic? How do you do magic? Who taught you? Where can..." Mike broke off as he remembered what his mother had said about wizards.

"Dirty, thieving scoundrels, the lot of them," he remembered her lecturing him. "They only use their magic for personal gain and hurting others, us 'lesser people'. Ha! Why would you need magic if you can get a good honest job, like farming or mining? You stay away from those magicians, son, if you know what's good for you." And so on. And on. And again, on, jumping from topic to topic like a flea jumping from dog to dog.

"Keep your voice down," hissed Firenze. "You know what people think of... people like me." He looked dejected and forlorn.  
"Sorry I made you show me," said Mike awkwardly. He had never been very good at apologies.  
"It's ok. Just don't tell anyone," Firenze said, smiling a little. "And you'll have to deal with that nose on your own – I'm fresh out on the magic front." Mike remembered his nose and wiped away the blood, not really bothered about the broken nose.

"It's fine, I've dealt with it before," he replied. "As long as I get home soon, I can fix it up." Firenze nodded.  
"Good luck getting home," he said ruefully, peering into the sky. "By the look of those clouds, it'll be raining soon – very soon. Might want to get back before then." Mike nodded and they said their goodbyes, then set off in different directions as the heavens opened and the rain started to pour.


	2. Chapter 2, Corruptness: Part A

The tall blond seventeen-year-old lay sprawled over a couch, his nose buried in a thick leather-bound book. A lady with hair an identical colour to his poked her head around the door inquisitively.  
"Firenze, dear? Mr Drennon is here for your lesson," she said, fondly smiling at her son. He grunted something in reply and she sighed, disappearing. Firenze reluctantly dropped the book on a low coffee table and stood to greet his teacher. A thin, pale man with greying black hair entered. He nodded to Firenze, taking a seat opposite.

"Firenze, my boy! Sit down, sit down," the man said gaily, relaxing back in the chair. Firenze sat formally on the edge of the couch, subconsciously smoothing back a stray hair.  
"Now," he said, leaning forward, "what have you been reading?" Firenze handed over the book he had been reading. His teacher inspected the cover.  
"The Art of Necromantic Magic," he read aloud. "An interesting read for one so young. Surely you are not attempting these spells?"  
"I tried a basic spell," Firenze admitted. "One to conjure a spirit familiar from a simple animal. I tried raising a mouse."  
The teacher frowned disapprovingly. "You know I do not approve of you attempting spells without my guidance. Especially the ones from this particular... topic." Firenze inclined his head in apology, and the teacher turned back to the book.

"I am interested to know of your progress with the spell," mused Mr Drennon. "It is difficult for one to succeed at such a complex, delicate spell as from the necromantic arts. They are, perhaps, even more volatile than the spells associated with death or banishment. The destruction of a being is an easy thing, but to bring it back from the realm of Herobrine would be a dangerous thing indeed." He glanced up at Firenze.

"At first, I did not succeed," replied Firenze, his cheeks colouring slightly in annoyance at admitting this fact, "but after two tries I successfully created the initial matter of which the spirit takes its form. After I was able to create that, the actual calling of the spirit was exceedingly easy."  
"And I take it you experienced no feelings of repulsion nor guilt during these experiments?"  
"Of course not, sir. It is simply magic – the subject of the experiment does not affect me."

The teacher smiled. "Excellent. A conscience has no place among magicians such as ourselves."  
"Sir... would it be possible for you to demonstrate some of the more complex magic in the book? For example, actually binding the spirit back into the body and reanimating it for a short amount of time?" Firenze asked tentatively. The teacher smiled.  
"Why, of course! I would be happy to demonstrate. Are you especially interested in this topic? We can take time away from our current lessons to focus on this, if you like."  
"Would you, sir? I find the subject... fascinating," Firenze said, eyes trained hopefully on his teacher.  
"It can be arranged," he replied, smiling a little. Firenze struggled to stop himself grinning like a loon.  
"Now, Firenze, would you demonstrate the spell I showed you last week?"

* * *

After his lesson, Firenze strolled down to the docks. As expected, Mike was waiting for him at the end. He grinned and greeted him happily.  
"What're you so pleased about?" Mike asked him, a small smile on his face.  
"I just had my lesson with Drennon..."  
"And?"

"He says we can change the topic of the lessons."  
"No way. Drennon never changes lessons. It's the law."  
"Yes way, as a matter of fact. He saw my book and wanted to know how far into it I was, then said we could change topics!"  
Mike smiled, but looked distracted. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair thoughtfully.

"What's wrong?" asked Firenze. Mike shook his head a little.  
"I just... I don't think you should be studying that," he admitted. "I didn't want to say anything, since you enjoy it so much, but it's just... morbid. It's like you're obsessed."  
Firenze's smile faded. "It's just magic. I don't see what the problem is, honestly."  
"It's tampering with death. Bringing something back is unnatural. When something dies, it's dead and gone. It shouldn't return." Mike's eyes were hard – he hated crossing his friend, but it had to be done.

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, but this is my path and I'm going to stick to it," Firenze replied slightly stiffly.  
"Drennon has changed you," Mike said almost reflectively. "You would never have done this a year ago. You should get rid of him and get a new teacher. One who isn't obsessed with death."

Firenze flushed angrily. "He is not obsessed with death! And anyway, Mr Drennon is the best wizard in this district, and the best teacher in this town."  
"You know his history. He's a dark wizard. You should never have chosen him."  
"Yes, he harbours an interest in the darker side of magic, but that doesn't make him a dark wizard!" Firenze argued hotly.  
"He's turning you into one. Just consider what you're doing. You're dabbling in dark magic. It's dangerous." Mike sighed glumly.

"Just remember what you're doing, and why you're doing it," he said finally. "Anyway I've got to go. Tryouts for the Delta squad are on today and I need to get an early slot. See you later."  
"Bye," Firenze said quietly. They both turned and walked away, both in deep thought.

* * *

**:O Firenze! What are you doing? **  
**I'll try to get part 2 of this chapter out soon. **


	3. Chapter 2, Corruptness: Part B

"I had no idea you were this dedicated," said Mr Drennon almost admiringly. "It has been just two months and you are already ready to do this. It must be said – you are, without a doubt, the most able student I have ever tutored." Firenze glowed with the praise.  
"Now if you would, I have the pentacle and so on set up. I trust you know the incantations?" Firenze nodded eagerly, barely able to contain his excitement. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks. They crossed the room to where a pentacle had been meticulously drawn. Trails of incense had been sprinkled around the edge, a few lotus petals scattered periodically. Firenze checked the runes – some basic wards, nothing too fancy. He smiled a little – no doubt something small was expected of him. He took a piece of chalk from his pocket and traced a second line, drawing in runes as he went. Mr Drennon, seated opposite, leant forward interestedly. From the look of the extra wart, something big was coming. He did not request any information from his apprentice – he let Firenze's actions speak for him.

Firenze began chanting in a strange, melodic language, his eyes half-closed with concentration. He briefly considered a variety of creatures, but settled for one he had studied and knew much about. Changing chants, he turned to the summoning of the spirit. A plume of grey mist, glittering dully like tarnished brass, rose slowly from the floor. It seemed to collapse in on itself, into the shape of a small, brown, unassuming dormouse.  
Mr Drennon frowned. Surely this was not all? Was Firenze tricking him in some way? He muttered a spell under his breath, tracing the words of Firenze's spell. This could not be right. The spell was high-level, perhaps dangerously so.

Suddenly, the mouse burst into a flurry of white-hot sparks, which in turn formed into a lion – but it seemed... off. The coat was too faded, the mane lacking lustre, the eyes dull and empty. It roared, a dim, jangling sound, like it was being heard from far away. The lion paced around the edge of the pentacle, but found no weaknesses – the spirit was trapped firmly in its pentacle. Unfazed by the huge animal, Firenze began to cast a ward. In protestation, the spirit transformed quickly into a towering griffin, kicking its front paws angrily and beating its wings in frustration.

Thick reddish-pink tendrils of fleshy substance rose from the floorboards, seemingly appearing from nothing. They wrapped around the griffin, melting into it like butter into a hot roll. It roared and writhed in pain. Where the tendrils touched it, colours sharpened, lines became more defined, as the animal took its form. With a loud fizzing, the feathers of its wings turned bronze, the talons of its pawns became shiny and clacked against the wooden floor, the sleek fur of its back became glossy and dark.  
Firenze showed no signs of worry at this very real, very alive monster, just a few feet away from where he was standing. His teacher sat back, thoroughly impressed with his apprentice's handiwork.

"Dismiss it," he said, his voice carrying over the griffin's low growling. Firenze quickly said a few words of dismissal. The creature exploded into a burst of blue smoke and Firenze half-fell, half-leant back against the wall, panting for breath after exhausting himself from the strenuous summoning.  
"I must say, I'm impressed," said Mr Drennon. "A zoion, if I'm not mistaken. Very ambitious for one so young, but you performed admirably."  
He passed a glass of water to Firenze. "Well done. Shapeshifters can throw the most seasoned wizard, but you were unfazed throughout."  
"It was no trouble," Firenze replied, smiling.  
"Perhaps in the future, we could try raising a human spirit," mused Mr Drennon. The idea sent a funny jolt through Firenze. Humans? Animals were one thing, but to raise a person from the realm of the dead...

"What do you think?" asked the teacher. Firenze jumped a little.  
"Whatever you think is best, sir," he replied automatically.  
"Very well. We can work on it," said Mr Drennon. "You are dismissed – well done."  
"Thank you, sir," Firenze said subserviently, ducking his head in respect and leaving the room quietly.

On the walk home, he thought about the proposition. A human... Did he have the right to do such a thing? But the great magicians had never worried about what was right. What was it Mr Drennon always said? 'A conscience has no place among wizards', that was it. And Mr Drennon was always right. Wasn't he?  
Doubts started eating away at Firenze. He remembered Mike's advice – to remember why he started learning magic. He thought back with a small smile to all those years ago, when he had been so naive. There was no way of remaining "good". He had started to help others, if he remembered correctly. He snorted with laughter. As if that was possible! Normal people could barely stand to talk to him, let alone trust him! Besides, Mr Drennon wanted him to do this. He had to, if he wanted his favour.

It was only when he arrived home that he put his finger on what that feeling was, when he first heard Mr Drennon's idea – horror, and a tiny inkling of fear.

The next day, Mike heard a knock on his door. He opened it and was confronted by the sight of Firenze, looking weary and depressed.  
"Firenze? What's wrong?" Mike asked, concerned.  
"I've... left home," Firenze replied. "I told my mum I didn't want to study under _him_ anymore, she got angry, and kicked me out. You know that old apartment I used to rent? I'm moving back in there. Here's the address – just thought I'd let you know." He handed Mike a slip of paper.  
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Mike asked hesitantly. Firenze nodded solemnly. Mike sighed.  
"I'll drop by later, see how you're getting on," he said. Firenze smiled briefly, turned and walked away. Mike closed the door quietly and flopped down on the small bed, considering Firenze's decision.


	4. Chapter 3, Discoveries

"Fire-Frost, you have been a valuable asset to our Council over these past years of your service. You have proved yourself far wiser than your experience and age would indicate. And now, we must prove that knowledge yet again," said the Head of Council, sitting solemnly behind his desk. Firenze sat in front of it, feeling rather like a schoolchild in his headmaster's office.

"One of the miners found an odd rock which seems to have magical properties – what exactly those properties are, you must find out. The substance is in Vault 74. Do not disappoint me." Firenze nodded, stood and left, feeling his superior's eyes on his back the entire journey out of the room.

The instant he set eyes on the black chunk of rock, Firenze recognised it with a lurch of the heart. He studied it and examined it intently, but there was no mistaking it for anything other than obsidian. He sighed and left, hearing the iron casing slide into place and the locking system sealing with a clunk.

As Firenze walked home, he almost bumped into Mike. A sudden brainwave hit him and he requested a book, ancient and powerful, from the library. Ever a good friend, Mike immediately set off for it, and Firenze hurried home to gather books and research any way of diverting the imminent disaster he predicted would occur. He knew in his heart he would fail, that there was nothing that could be done, but he knew he had to try. It was his duty to Minecraftians everywhere to try.

* * *

**Woooo! I finally wrapped this up! I really wanted to finish this, but you have no idea how many times I had to rewrite this chapter. Still, it's out now, so remember to R/R!**  
**N.B. now I'm done with this, I can get started on the Sequel of Mysteriosity, so it won't be too long to wait.**


End file.
